A Little Push
by Crius
Summary: Ginny attempts to convince Harry to come out of hiding after the Battle of Hogwarts. Will she succeed? And why is Harry hiding anyway? Because of his guilt over all the deaths? Or is it over something else? DH SPOILERS! HPxGW! CONTINUATION IN PROGRESS!
1. The Night Before the Morning After

Title: A Little Push

Summary: Ginny attempts to convince Harry to come out of hiding after the Battle of Hogwarts. Will she succeed? And why is Harry hiding anyway? Because of his guilt over all the deaths? Or is it over something else?

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement is intended. Just a harmless piece of fun, but please don't reproduce this without asking me first!

Pairings: HarryxGinny, naturally!

A/N: My first foray into the world of Hogwarts, so please be generous, but constructive criticism is welcome. In particular please tell me whether you think I have correctly interpreted how the characters would act and react in this situation.

She stood there; achingly beautiful in the pale gold dress she had worn at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Harry could not tear his eyes from her, even though he knew without a doubt that this was not real, still, he could not look away from the vision of perfection. The bodice of the dress hugged her curves in all the right places, making Harry want to drool, and the curving neckline dipped low enough to show just the barest hint of cleavage without being too revealing. The slender straps over her shoulders that held up the gold silk ensemble were almost lost in the waterfall of her red mane, which reached down to her waist. The full skirt reached down to the floor, giving the dress regality, which Harry loved. He wanted to get out of his chair by the fireside and embrace her. He wanted to hold her close to him, to smell her unique flowery scent, to taste her sweet lips, like he had been able to do for that all too brief time back in his sixth year. He wanted these things so badly it was almost like a physical pain. He did not move, however, because he thought he would probably break down when the vision faded into insubstantiality under his touch. Because Ginny Weasley was not really standing in his living room, looking like a goddess, that was just a figment of his imagination. In all likelihood she was at The Burrow grieving for her dead brother, and that was Harry's fault.

But that was not the half of it. He would never have guessed it, not from the fiery, passionate air she had had to her during the final battle. It was yet another testament, if he really needed it, to her strength of character. Anyone who might have noticed Harry's disappearance probably thought he felt guilty over all the deaths from the battle. That was certainly a convenient excuse, but Molly Weasley had hinted at it, and Neville had told him the truth, the very gristly truth about Ginny's past year at Hogwarts, what had been going on, and what had been done to her. It had been a horrifying revelation, and he had avoided sleep as much as possible since, although that had not stopped him from imagining her sufferings while awake, feeling them as if they were his own. He could not take it in, what she had been facing while he and Ron and Hermione had been travelling around the country. How could he ever face her again? And if he could not be with her, then he did not want to be, it was as simple as that. He had no life without her. He had never once, in all his wild imaginings, considered that with half of the Order of the Phoenix on the staff, Ginny would have been anything less than safe at Hogwarts. It was why he had steadfastly ignored her pleas to let her join Ron, Hermione and himself on their journeys. Now he wished he had any of those days back, so that he could change a single 'no' into a 'yes' and spare her all that suffering.

It was too late for that now though, what was done was done, and the only thing left to do was to live with it, live with the knowledge that he had caused the worst suffering imaginable to the person he loved the most. He deserved death really, for all the pain he had caused her, and he could have ended his own life so easily, but he had determined that living alone and isolated as he was, death might actually be a reprieve, especially now he knew how easy, how quick and painless it was, and he deserved no reprieves, not from anything. He welcomed the pain, it was fitting. And so he gazed at the image of Ginny that his mind had conjured to torment him. _This is what you could have had_, it mocked, _if only you were a real man, a real hero, instead of a cowardly, glory-hunting fraud. _He accepted the spiteful sentence, the vitriol was nothing more than he deserved, and it was the truth anyway. He could have had her; he could have had it all from her, marriage, children, a life full of love. But like everyone else he had foolishly pushed her away. He ran over the reason he had done so in his mind. In the cold and rational light of logic, and now that he knew exactly what keeping her safe had actually subjected her to, he could see just how stupid he had been. He had sought to protect her, as if she were a child, as if she could not look after herself, as if she were not already hunted just for being a Weasley, as if he were somehow better than her. What arrogance, what insult he had given to her with those simple words! She had coped far better in the face of far worse than he ever had. And even worse, it had proved completely pointless. She had not been safe at all, and he had not had a single inkling of what she was going through, had not made a single effort to contact her. For that alone he deserved to have her castrate him, slowly, with a rusty spoon.

Ginny Weasley gazed sadly at the pale-faced wreck of a young man that sat erectly and rigidly in the armchair, the sole occupant of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It was late evening, but she had refused to wait until the next day to come in here once they had found a way in. She had not want to put off seeing him for any longer than she absolutely had to. Had it really only been a month since the last time she saw him, looking so full of life, so heroic, as he fought tooth and nail against the Death Eaters and then against Voldemort himself at Hogwarts? He had changed so much, and not for the better in her opinion. His captivating green eyes were flat and dead. His skin was unhealthily pallid, almost translucent except for the dark circles under his eyes that proclaimed his insomnia to the world. His hair, always adorably messy in a way that made her want to run her hands through it, looked as though it had not been touched by brush or comb for days, although she supposed she should be thankful that it looked as though he was still showering. Mentally she cursed her mother, at whose feet sole blame for Harry's current appalling state could be laid. Well, that was not entirely fair, for she had been understandably upset over the loss of Fred and thus not herself at the time. But how she could possibly have blamed Harry for it, Ginny did not know. She would never forget what she had heard that night. Screams of '_How could you do this to us?_' and '_What were you thinking?_' still woke _her_ up at night on occasion, usually accompanied by the image of Fred's frozen face, forever fixed in that almost grin he had been wearing when he died, so she could only imagine how Harry felt about it. He had fled The Burrow as though he had been confronted by the image of Voldemort reincarnated, and that had been the last anyone had seen of him for a month.

It was quite by chance that they had found him at all really, a complete stroke of luck. Everyone had assumed he would go somewhere where no one could follow, and they had all thought that Grimmauld Place did not fit that description, so no one had even bothered to check it. It was only when Ron and Hermione expressed the need to get in to retrieve some of the things they had left behind while staying there over the last year, just a week ago, that they realised that no one could enter. Someone had renewed the Fidelius Charm surrounding the house, and they were no longer all in on the secret. It was not hard to guess who it was really, in fact they were all kicking themselves for not thinking about it before, but how could Harry possibly have known how to cast a Fidelius Charm. It was one of the questions she hoped to get answered while she was at this, except that Harry did not look up to answering questions about complex magic at the moment. He did not look up to standing at the moment. She wondered when he had last slept, when he had last eaten. Probably far too long ago for his own good. Luckily Professor Flitwick had managed to find a way around Harry's Fidelius Charm after only a few inspections of the ward. He may have been able to cast the ward, an astounding achievement in itself for someone who had not completed his schooling, but it was not nearly as powerful or impenetrable as one cast by Flitwick or Dumbledore, which she was thankful for or else they might never have been able to get in. It had been generally agreed that she had the best chance of convincing Harry to come out of hiding, plus she had flatly refused to wait behind while someone else talked to him, even threatening to break into the house herself if necessary, so here she was, standing in Harry's living room, watching him and hoping to charm him out of isolation and back into the real world.

His gaze never wavered from her, and she felt herself blushing slightly under his scrutiny. She wondered whether it had been the right choice to don this dress. Certainly it was beautiful, and she thought it made her look good, and Harry was staring at her as though he were a man dying of thirst and she were a pool of cool, clear water, but it was also regal, and slightly aloof, and she did not want anything, any perception to come between her and Harry. Hermione had advised it of course, as an instant attention getter. She had told her that Harry had been staring at her throughout the wedding with a look that, judging by her interpretation of Hermione's description, was identical to the one he was wearing right now, so it _was_ working she supposed. She noticed then that his mouth was moving, and, straining her ears, she realised that he was muttering to himself under his breath. Something about simple words and a rusty spoon. Fear rushed up in her. Were they too late? Had he already gone mad in his solitude?

"Oh Harry," she sighed worriedly and moved to close the distance between them.

Harry jumped violently. She had spoken! The apparition of Ginny had spoken his name in that soft, musical voice of hers. Had he finally lost his sanity then? It was funny, he had always thought that if he went insane then he would imagine himself into a world where everything was fine and dandy, where he was blissfully dating Ginny once again, or possibly married to her already, and where his friends were all alive and well. Apparently even his subconscious psyche agreed that he did not deserve to be happy if he had finally gone mad and this was the best his mind could come up with. He was so wrapped up in questioning his own sanity that he did not register her approach, did not notice her drawing nearer, did not hear the soft rustle of her silken skirts as she walked over, until a warm weight settled into his lap and two slender arms twined themselves around his neck. Afraid to move, lest he break whatever spell or mood was causing him to have this intense experience, he forced his hands to remain where they were instead of following his desires and attempting to return the embrace he was currently imagining himself into. He looked up from the large quantity of golden silk that had obscured his view of his knees, and found himself looking into the sparkling brown eyes that he had longed for, for an entire year while on the run from Voldemort and the Death Eaters and searching for Horcruxes. At this distance he could also see the cute freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose, and he had to fight down the urge to lean in and kiss them, as he had been fond of doing before when they were going out. This was one hell of a great hallucination, he told himself.

He felt a light swat on his shoulder.

"Harry James Potter," 'Ginny' said in a tone that suggested she was fighting the urge to laugh, "I am no hallucination."

Had he said that out loud? Of course he had not, he was not that far gone. This just proved that he _was _hallucinating, because how else could 'Ginny' know what he was thinking.

"Yes you are," he assured the figment of his imagination sincerely, even as he wondered why he was bothering to talk since there was no one here but him, perhaps he really was mad after all, "Ginny hates me, I killed her brother, if she were here she'd be hexing me into next year, not sitting on my lap."

"Oh Harry," she sighed again, "Fred's death was not your fault. You can't blame yourself for that."

Oh how he _wished_ the real Ginny might say that, for if she could then there was a chance that she might forgive him for the rest of it as well, but it was just that, a wish. Mrs Weasley had made it crystal clear that Fred _was_ his fault. She could not have put it any plainer. Her bald statement was permanently burned into his brain: '_Without you he wouldn't have even been there!_'. And her hints about Ginny's ordeals through her tirade had made it abundantly clear that that too was his fault.

"I'm not arguing with you," he told 'Ginny', somewhat grumpily. Was he always going to be in conflict with himself about this? It was his fault, he needed to grow up and accept responsibility for it, "You're not really here, just a figment of my imagination."

'Ginny's' eyes glimmered with unshed tears and he swallowed, while cursing his own idiocy. What he had put the real Ginny through was bad enough, now he was upsetting the imaginary one too. He really was useless; he couldn't even make a figment of his own imagination happy. Perhaps he should just do the world a favour and kill himself, let nature do something useful with him since he seemed incapable of doing it himself. Then he recalled why he had already ruled suicide out.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, on the verge of tears himself, "I'm sorry! Please don't cry."

Ginny's heart was cracking at the pathetic sight of what Harry was becoming, and she was holding back tears with some effort. He was so far gone that he was questioning his own sanity. They had gone over many possible scenarios before she had come here, but they had never once given serious thought to the idea that Harry might not be lucid. It had just seemed so remote a possibility, that the boy who had faced Voldemort several times and emerged with minimal effects could be brought low by a single row with the mother of his best friend and girlfriend. Once again the anger at her mother rose up in her for doing this to her boyfriend. This time shame did not dampen it down; her mother's distraught state at the time could not excuse the appalling damage that had obviously been done to Harry by that row. She did the only thing she could think of at that moment. She cuddled closer on Harry's lap and rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Shhh, Harry, shhhh," she whispered into his ear, "I'm real, I'm here. I love you."

She could feel Harry shudder at the last sentence, and she pulled back slightly, trying to read his expression, but his eyes were still flat and dead as they stared at her, although they glimmered with moisture in the low light, and his expression had not changed from mournful.

"Why Ginny?" he asked, his voice shaking. Well at least he was talking to her as if she was real, so she supposed that was an improvement.

"Why what, Harry?"

"Why do you love me?" he asked hoarsely, "I'm a…"

She cut him off by placing a finger over his lips, her eyes searching his once again.

"A great man," she finished for him, "A hero. _My_ hero."

"I'm no hero, Gin," he said softly, bitterly, "Heroes don't do what I did. They don't refuse help from their betters, they don't drag their best friends off into mortal peril with little or no idea of what they're doing, they don't leave their girlfriends alone and isolated in the face of mortal peril, especially if that means leaving said girlfriend to face the tender mercies of Amycus Carrow without some attempt at a rescue."

Ginny paled substantially, wondering how he could have found out about that. She had lost count of the hours she had spent as an object lesson in Amycus Carrow's class. She had probably been subjected to every Dark curse, which did not cause permanent damage, that was known to man. She had also been very careful not to let on to anyone what was going on. Aside from her classmates who had been forced to watch the 'demonstrations' and Madam Pomfrey who had fixed her up after each lesson, only her parents were aware of what she had endured, and that had only been because by the time Easter came around she was a complete wreck. It had taken her the whole holiday and then some to recover, not just physically, but mentally as well, from her ordeals, and she was sure that she could never have done it without her family's support. Nevertheless she had thought that she had made it clear to all of them that Harry was never to find out about any of it. If he did, then she knew that, as it was he that insisted on her staying behind, he would take every ounce of blame for everything onto his own shoulders, when really he could not possibly have foreseen it. She devoutly hoped that her mother had not included mention of it in her tirade to Harry, it would be a great shame to have to hex her own mother when she returned to her family with Harry by her side.

"Harry that wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?" he interrupted hotly, "Wasn't my fault? Who made you stay behind? Who told you to go to Hogwarts because it would be safer? Who ignored you when you _pleaded_ with me to let you come?" he was shouting now, and she had to withdraw a bit to protect her ears "Who had it easy for weeks and weeks while his girlfriend was facing the worst tortures imaginable because he had made her stay behind 'for her own safety'? Me! I did that! I caused all that! If I had just listened, just once, to anything you had said instead of being so stubborn then you wouldn't have had to go through any of it. Some hero, huh?" he finished bitterly.

While she was not surprised by it, the self-loathing in his tirade was like a stab at her heart. She could not recall him ever sounding more desolate, not even on the day they had broken up at Dumbledore's funeral, and she knew how much that had cost him. She unwound her arms from around his neck and cupped his cheeks between her hands, preventing him from breaking eye contact.

"It _wasn't_ your fault, Harry," she said in a quiet, sincere voice, "You didn't lay a wand on me. You had no idea Amycus would be at the school. You couldn't have known that he would pick me as his demonstration model. I never blamed you."

She stressed the last sentence heavily, pausing after each word in the hopes that it would sink in. It was a lie. In her darkest moments, moments she did not even like to _think_ about now, much less dwell on, she _had_ blamed him. It was so shameful, that she had cursed the boy whose only crime was the desire to see her safe, in a place where he believed she was protected. That was one secret she _would_ keep, because letting it out now would increase Harry's guilt a thousandfold. It might even be enough to cement his resistance to her pleas, and then she would lose him altogether, so keeping the secret was for the best, for now. Perhaps one day she would tell him, after she had tracked down and comprehensively hexed the person who told him about the whole affair in the first place.

For his part, Harry was gazing up into Ginny's rich brown eyes in confusion.

"How could you not?" he asked, plaintively. He did not understand. How could she assign the blame anywhere but to himself? In his own mind he might as well have cast all those curses on her himself, but to her, there seemed to be no connection at all. He wanted to know how that was, how she had worked it out. It was the last glimmer of light in his dark world, the last hope that maybe there really was some way of being able to live with himself, being able to live with _her_.

"Because," she said in that same quietly honest tone, "I knew that if you had known what was happening, then a hundred Death Eaters and three Voldemorts wouldn't have stopped you from saving me. Because I knew that you were out there, saving all of us. Because when you told me to go back to school, I knew that it was because that was the safest place you knew of, and you wanted me to be there, wanted me to be safe, because you loved me. You couldn't have known then that Snape would be Headmaster, or that he would let Death Eaters be our teachers."

He did not reply to that, he could not. He simply sat there, clutching the arms of his chair rigidly for some sort of support as he reeled mentally, trying to process her words, trying to follow her thoughts. His mind was now waging full blown war with his heart, one screaming at him to listen to her, to jump at the chance she was offering, while the other spoke in icy tones, reminding him of everything she had suffered, and all the reasons why he should be too ashamed to even _look_ at her, much less be with her. She seemed to sense his inner conflict, and did the one thing guaranteed to erase all trace of conscious thought from his brain. The press of her soft lips against his dry, cracked ones caused fireworks to explode in his brain. After so long without even her presence, the feeling was absolute heaven for him. After an eternity, the need for air forced them apart, and he looked up to see her eyes shining at him. For now, heart won out over mind, although mind continued to mutter dark recriminations at him and urge him towards fleeing for her sake before he caused something else to happen to her.

"No more talking tonight," she said, cutting across his now muted inner turmoil "We can do that tomorrow if you still have something you want to talk about. For now, I missed my boyfriend and I want a hug."

He was hesitant, tentative as he put his arms around her waist and rested his hands on the small of her back, not entirely certain still if this was the right thing to do, but there seemed little point in arguing further, and, truth be told, he wanted to hold her. Her hands moved away from his cheeks, one curling around the back of his neck, pulling him close, and the other playing with his tangled hair. She rested her chin on his shoulder once more, and he could feel the warmth of her exhalations tickle the back of his neck. He could have happily sat like that forever. He had not realised just how much he missed Ginny until she was with him again. It felt so good to just hold her, even if he still was not sure whether he deserved her. His body, however, betrayed him, sleep deprived, weary and suddenly drained from their conversation, and with his hands otherwise occupied, he could not fully stifle the yawn that was welling up inside him. Of course Ginny picked up on it at once.

"It's late," she said, probably looking at the huge grandfather clock that stood in one corner of the room behind him, then she pulled back to look him in the eye, "When's the last time you slept?"

"Uh…"

"That's what I thought," Ginny said, disentangling herself and getting up off his lap. Harry felt a fleeting desolation at the loss of contact. He had not wanted that moment to end, "Bed time."

He gave her a 'look', but it did not perturb her in the slightest and she continued to look at him expectantly. Admitting defeat, he rose, proud of himself for only swaying slightly, despite the fact that he now felt more tired than he would after three rounds with a Horntail. Once again, however, Ginny was not deceived, and she wrapped an arm securely around his waist while draping his arm over her shoulders, practically forcing him to lean on her. He did not complain, however, as the press of her body against his was nice.

Ginny enjoyed the feel of Harry's warm weight leaning on her as they moved slowly through the house. Things were looking better than she had hoped they would at the start of her visit. With luck, and a little more charm on her part, she thought she might have him out of this house by tomorrow or the next day. When they finally got to a bedroom, he walked her in, and then made to turn and leave. She halted him, however with the arm that was holding on to his waist.

"Where are you going?" she asked him.

"To bed," he replied, "Wasn't that the idea?"

"Stay with me?" she asked looking up at him hopefully, blushing at her own forwardness. This might be pushing things a bit, but she was not about to let that stop her, "I did miss you Harry. And I can't get out of this dress by myself anyway."

Harry both blanched and blushed furiously, and Ginny was afraid that she had gone too far. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to forget it, but he spoke before she could get the words out.

"Um, o-okay," he said rather hesitantly, "I-I'll just go and get some pyjamas to wear. There are some t-shirts and loose pants in the drawers, cast-offs of Hermione's I think."

Her heart leapt up into her throat, and suddenly she felt very, very nervous. But she quickly pushed that aside. After nearly a year without any meaningful contact, she was going to spend time with her boyfriend, and if that meant sleeping next to him then that was what it meant. He turned to go again, but again Ginny held him back.

"Harry, my dress?"

"Oh…right," he said, "What do I do?"

"There's a zip at the back that I need you to undo," she told him as she turned around, sweeping her red mane over one shoulder, "After that I'll be fine."

Harry found the zip easily enough, cleverly hidden under a small fold of the bodice right over her spine. The parting fabric, however, revealed something that made him stop dead. Running from just below her right shoulder blade towards the left side of her waist was a long, jagged scar that he had never seen before. His tired mind took several moments to put it together, but when it did disgust and self-loathing welled up in him once again. He had done this to her, and although it was the only one he could see so far, how many other such painful and permanent reminders of her ordeal were indelibly stamped on her body? The dark and spiteful murmurs of his mind gained in strength, fuelled by the solid reality of her suffering that was now in plain view. She must have noticed his pause, because she turned back around to look up at him.

"I…"

"Not your fault. Remember?" she cut across him firmly, and although his mind did not instantly rebel against the notion, that was probably due to the fact that his thinking processes were now crawling along at a rate that made a snail seem positively speedy. Deciding to take her advice and drop it until tomorrow, he reached around her and drew the zipper the rest of the way down.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said, and she nodded mutely.

He walked down the hallway to his own room, changed his clothes for pyjamas and brushed his teeth. When he shuffled back to her door and knocked, she answered it wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black pants that, while rather roomy on her, were not too bad a fit, and preserved her modesty. The dress, he saw, was hung on the door of the wardrobe in the room. Absently, not even really registering exactly what he was thinking or what it signified, he wondered whether he could persuade her to wear a similarly designed dress at their wedding. They both slid between the sheets, and Ginny cuddled close to Harry. He had just enough presence of mind to put his arms around her and murmur a good night before black unconsciousness claimed him.

Ginny stayed awake a while longer, looking into the face of her boyfriend. His deep, even breathing, and the relaxed, untroubled look on his face told her that he was asleep. There were still dark circles under his eyes, and he was still very pale, but he had never looked so good to her. For the first time in a month certainly, and probably since the start of the year, she could honestly say that she was happy. She was lying in the arms of the boy – no, the _man_ – she loved, and she was confident now that she could reach him, bring him back out of his self-imposed exile and into the world of people that loved him. All it had taken was a little push…

_Finis_

Please review and tell me what you think!


	2. Pillow Talk

For disclaimers, warnings and pairing notifications see chapter 1.

A/N: Well due to requests from reviewers I've continued this piece. I know the continuation is a little short compared to the original, but fear not, a third chapter is in the works which should be a little longer, so think of this as an interlude. As always critical commentary is appreciated, flames that contain no advice on how to improve will be dumped unceremoniously on my refuse pile. I don't mind if you thought it was crap, in fact please tell me if you do! But also tell me why you thought it was crap, otherwise I can't very well improve it can I? Anyway, on with the show...

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"GINNY!!! NOOOO!!!"

The shriek, for no other word could adequately describe Harry's utterance, emerged at a pitch that young men do not normally reach unless injured in a particularly private part of their anatomy, and the volume was sufficient to give Ginny an instant headache as she was forcefully woken up. All thoughts of remonstration flew out of her head, along with most of the headache, however, when she turned over and noted that Harry's eyes were still squeezed shut and his brow was so tightly furrowed that she wondered if he might develop permanent ridges across his forehead from it. Shocked, she watched as Harry lay there stock still, except for his head which moved from side to side as if he were being struck across each cheek alternately. Perhaps that was the creepiest thing, that he was obviously very distressed, but other than his head he was perfectly still. Occasionally tremors would run through his body from the violence of his head movement, but nothing else. Hesitantly, unsure of what exactly to do, Ginny slid an arm underneath Harry's shoulders and circled the other over his chest to enfold him in a gentle hug, holding him tightly enough to let him know she was there, but not squeezing at all. It seemed to help as Harry lapsed from ear-splitting screams down to incoherent mutters. His movements, however, did not lessen, and Ginny was truly scared about what Harry could be imagining that would put him in this state. And it was all for her, all because of her. Suddenly she understood how one could feel guilty for another's pain in the way that Harry did. Intellectually she knew that she was not at fault for Harry's nightmares, that if he did not dream of her then there were plenty of other things to haunt his sleep, but she could not help the small pang she felt that it was nightmares about her that caused him pain. She continued to cuddle Harry until suddenly his eyes flicked open and he attempted to sit up in bed, panting as though he were a drowning man just returned to dry land.

"Shhh," she soothed in his ear, much as she had done earlier that evening, "Shhh, Harry, it's alright, I'm here. Nothing's happening. You're safe."

He turned towards the sound of her voice, and for a moment his wild eyes searched her face, then suddenly tears were welling up in those captivating green depths and spilling down his cheeks. He buried his face against the side of her neck and his arm came up and over to clutch her tightly in a plain attempt to reassure himself of her solid reality. She did not resist at all, merely ran her hands through his hair and held him close, murmuring comfortingly in his ear as she waited for him to gain the release he so obviously needed. How many nights, she wondered, had he woken up like this in a solitary room, with no source of comfort to be had?

It was several minutes before Harry got over his nightmare, but eventually he calmed down and attempted to move away slightly with muttered apologies for disturbing her sleep. She was not having any of it though, and pulled him closer to her, until they were eye-to-eye.

"Talk to me about it, Harry," she pleaded, "Don't shut me out, you don't have to bear anything on your own anymore. I want to be here for you, just like you were there for me down in that chamber."

Harry was instantly caught between two of his most basic desires. On the one hand, his desire for acceptance urged him to tell Ginny everything, to let her see all of himself, on the off chance that he was really someone she could love in the forever kind of way that he loved her. On the other hand his protective instincts urged him to keep quiet, to spare her from the pains of his nightmares.

"I just…don't know where to start," he hedged after a long pause, "There's so much, from the war, and Voldemort, and…everything, really. You know?"

"Just take it slow, Harry," she coaxed, not wanting to scare him into clamming up, this was, after all, more than he had ever spoken about the burdens he carried, and she was sure that they were many and very heavy, "We have all the time in the world."

Ginny could almost see the cogs turning in Harry's head as he tried to come up with something coherent to say. Not really accustomed to being patient when it came to ferreting things out of people, it was very hard for her to not try to encourage Harry any further. She was positively bursting to have this out with him, to get him to look past what had happened and see that she was here now, and safe, but she recognised that now was not the time to press in any way, that it had to be Harry who opened up to her, not she who weaselled her way in.

"It's just…sometimes it hits me," he paused and swallowed nervously his gaze turning away from her, "All these things that happen, everything Voldemort did, it was all aimed at me. Every time he lashed out, he was trying to get to me. Dumbledore died because without him I would have no one to guide me in what to do. Professor Moody spent nine months in his own trunk so that Voldemort could get his man on the inside to get to me. All those people who died at Hogwarts last month, Voldemort was trying to get to me and they were in the way."

His eyes met hers once again, and she could see the glimmer of tears there as he looked at her. Surely, she thought quite irrelevantly, he would run out of them soon with all the crying he had been doing tonight.

"And you…he took you to the Chamber to get me to go in after him, he knew me better than I knew myself, knew that I would go anywhere, do anything to make sure you were safe even before I knew it. And all of last year, Carrow was hurting you because of me, because you were the girlfriend of Harry Potter. It…it's like I'm this walking _plague_ for the people I care about, they all get hurt because of me, _die_ because of me. You should go before it happens to you, again, because who knows what might happen to you this time, you could die, and I don't want that, but I don't want you to go either, I missed you so much Ginny, but if you stay…"

He was babbling now, and it was really quite heartbreaking to realise that this was his honest opinion of himself, that it was better for _everyone else_ if he remained isolated and alone, that he really thought that they would be better off without him around. _How could he think that?_ Didn't he _realise_ how happy he made them all, how much his presence and actions had _brightened_ their lives? She had the sudden feeling that their conversation had just expanded hugely, and was no longer just about her, or how she had spent the last year, but rather something much larger, much more fundamental to Harry's character. She said nothing as Harry continued to vocally waver back and forth between encouraging her to run away at once and pleading with her to stay with him, although the stinging sensation in her eyes told her that Harry was not the only one now on the verge of tears once again. Finally, however, after several more minutes of him going around in very circular arguments, she had had enough. Battling the strong urge to simply bawl him out about his ridiculous notions, Ginny silenced him with a finger to his lips. When she spoke, she was very proud of how calm and even her tone was, the urge to shout at him was _very_ strong.

"Listen to me now, Harry, I want you to promise me that you won't interrupt," at his very slight nod of acquiescence, she forged on in the same even tone, with what she hoped he would take as a bit of compassion, "What happened to me was not your fault. I don't know how else to say it, so I'm going to keep saying it until you realise it, you weren't at fault at all for any of it. There was nothing you could have done to stop me from opening the Chamber, I was just a little girl, not even in your year. And that whole thing was started up by Malfoy, remember? To get at my father, by having me made out to be a killer. You weren't even in the picture in Malfoy's plan, so there isn't _any_ portion of blame for you over the Chamber, none at all."

"I'd forgotten about that," Harry admitted quietly, "But you didn't hear Tom after he had come out of the diary. He admitted to luring you into the Chamber to get me to come down after you."

"Harry, do you honestly think that Tom Riddle's memory would have let me live after the end of 'my' killing rampage across the school. A trial and Veritaserum would have brought out the truth about the diary. Tom Riddle was going to try and kill me the moment I first put pen to paper in that diary, not because of you, but because of me. And as for Carrow, how could he possibly have known about us. He came to the school after we broke up. For all he knew, it might have been a summer fling, which isn't uncommon among teenage boys you know. I was just a random person he pulled from the class to serve as his object lesson for the Dark Arts. In fact he probably picked me for my name, which I was born with, absolutely nothing to do with you."

Harry said nothing, as Ginny continued to enumerate the ways in which things were not his fault. She could not know the whirlwind of thoughts she had set off in Harry's head. Details he had forgotten about both incidents were now coming back to him. He had been so wrapped up in his guilt that he had ignored or sidelined them. He was starting to see that she was right, that he had been ignoring logic in his guilt. _Logic is what made you send her to the torture-chamber in the first place, why are you using it now? _But this was not that kind of logic, it was not Harry-logic, driven by the pathological need to protect the people around him. This was just logic, cold facts in the light of day…or night, he guessed, since it was night. But that was not the point, the point was that Ginny was irrefutable, her arguments impeccable, and her entreaties undeniable. It was a light-bulb moment for Harry.

"Ginny I…" words failed him, they just seemed so useless to express what he was feeling at the moment, the knowledge that she wanted him, that he could have her, the freedom from the crushing guilt, all thanks to her, and he had absolutely no idea how to verbalise all of that, never mind expressing his thanks to her for doing him such a great service. He resolved then and there that he was going to make himself worthy of it, worthy of _her_ and her love and what she had done for _him_. He was not yet, and he did not know how he could become so, but he would find a way, whatever it took. He exhaled slowly, the vow sealed.

"Yes Harry?" she was looking at him expectantly. How could he disappoint her?

"I love you, Gin. You're so good to me. How did I get so lucky, to find someone who keeps my head screwed on straight?"

"Just so long as you don't forget it, Mr Potter," she murmured, a mischievous smile playing around her lips.

"I'm serious, Gin, you don't know…I can't explain…this is such a great thing. I owe you so much this time. Ask me for anything, anything at all, for this I want to make you as happy as you can be."

Her smile grew wider, and he thought he saw a glimmer in her eye.

"Love me?" her voice was a whisper so soft he almost missed it.

"Always," he replied in an equally quiet voice.

* * *

A/N2: Awww don't you just love fluffy endings? Please review and tell me what you think!

Edit 29/1/08: Argh! I know I'm neglecting this story badly, but dialogue is giving me huge problems! Why do characters have to talk? Why can't they just mime, or communicate in ways other than speech?!


	3. Return to the Burrow

For disclaimers, warnings and pairing notifications, see Chapter 1.

Author Note: I know, I know, I promised a much longer chapter this time, but it's been such a long time, and the dialogue of the scene just after the end of this current chapter is _still _giving me problems. I felt you guys deserved something, just to prove that I'm still alive and so is this story, so I'm sorry to all those who are disappointed with the length of this chapter. I'll try to do better.

* * *

Dawn broke over London, and because of a slight oversight on their part, the steel-grey rays that preceded the rising of the sun spilled over the forms of two young people in bed together in a certain house in Grimmauld place. Despite them both being in bed, only one of them was actually asleep. Sleep was not high on the priority list for Ginevra Weasley at the moment. Instead, she was entranced by the sleeping form of her boyfriend. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, totally unburdened. Her mind cast back over the conversation they had had during the night. It was a breakthrough, no doubt about that. She hoped that they had now resolved his issues with her ordeal of the last year, and even those about the Chamber which she had not even realised he was carrying. She reached out and tenderly smoothed back his fringe, which was rather long after a year without a haircut, revealing the famous lightning shaped scar on his forehead. He gave a soft, contented mewl at her ministrations, and she continued to run her hand through his hair and across his forehead, her fingertips lightly tracing random patterns across his skin and her palm being tickled by strands of his silky soft hair. Her lips curved upwards in a faint smile, she enjoyed watching Harry sleep. She would have to do it more often. She continued like that for several minutes before leaning over to press a light kiss to Harry's scar. Then she laid her head down on Harry's shoulder, cuddled up with her back to him, and let her eyes slide closed once more. 

Some hours later, Ginny was awakened once more by the full bright sunlight that was now streaming in through the open curtains. She smiled and turned over lazily, expecting to see Harry still lying next to her. She was therefore somewhat concerned to be confronted by an empty expanse of bed where the supine form of the aforementioned boyfriend ought to have been. Kicking off the covers and the sheets, she rose and went in search of her wayward significant other, finding him at last in the living room again, already dressed in plain black robes, standing at one of the windows looking out at the reasonably sized square of Grimmauld Place. Ginny crept over to Harry, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floorboards, until she was standing right behind him. Harry gave no sign that he knew she was there, and it was very tempting to tickle or poke him. Instead she put her arms around his middle and squeezed gently. Harry did not act surprised in the least, but simply rested his own hand on both of hers which were clasped together over his stomach.

"Good morning," she murmured softly in his ear.

"Morning," he returned, turning around in her arms so that he was facing her, and looking her straight in the eye. She could not quite identify the gleam in his eye, but the simple fact of an expression in those entrancing green depths, compared to the flat, empty look that had occupied them yesterday evening, sent her into internal transports of delight. He looked so much better to her, compared to yesterday. Granted, his skin was still rather pallid, and the dark circles beneath his eyes had only receded a little bit, but his small smile was worth ten times all of that.

"Sleep well?" he asked, then continued hurriedly, "What sleep you got, that is, and I'm sorry about that…"

Ginny kissed him to shut him up. Really she would need to do something about this habit Harry had of talking too much.

"I slept just fine. Never better actually," she replied off-handedly, then blushed at how positively _naughty _the totally honest answer sounded.

"Good," was all he said but he seemed to pick up on the line her mind was taking, judging by the way his mouth curled upwards very slightly at the corners. He did not, however, take it any further, and she was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed by this. _Damn hormones, _she thought.

"Breakfast?" he asked, interrupting her train of thought.

"Yes please," she said, grateful for something to drag her mind out of the gutter.

Harry called Kreacher and asked him to prepare breakfast for two. Surprisingly, the aged house-elf seemed more than amenable to doing his master's bidding, a considerable turnaround from his attitude before the defeat of Voldemort. Ginny wondered how Harry had managed to make peace with the incorrigible elf. Over breakfast they talked about inconsequential things, or rather Ginny carried on an extensive monologue, since Harry's last month had been spent in isolation. She told him what had transpired in the wizarding world since the demise of Voldemort, the renewal of justice and freedom in the country. She mentioned the various celebrations and parties in his honour that he had already missed, and warned him of the many that were still yet to come, a prospect he groaned good-naturedly at. Harry asked how Ron and Hermione were doing, as well as Luna, Neville and the old crowd, and Ginny told him about Bill and Fleur, Percy, Charlie and even little Teddy, who had been adopted into the Weasley family as well. She chattered about how Arthur had been promoted at work thanks to his skilful handling of the ad hoc department he had run during the war. The one topic that they avoided by unspoken mutual agreement was Molly and her row with Harry. At last, however, they could no longer skirt the issue, and Ginny, in her typically forthright fashion, broached the subject just as Kreacher was finishing clearing away the breakfast dishes.

"So, Harry, what time should I tell mum to expect us back at the Burrow after our little visit?"

Harry instantly looked apprehensive at the idea of setting foot within a mile of the Burrow, or of Mrs Weasley. He was not especially anxious for a repeat of what had befallen him on his last visit to the Weasley house. Although she had convinced him to let go of his guilt over what happened, Harry was not so sure that Mrs Weasley was thinking along the same lines that Ginny was. Grieving mothers, after all, were hardly the most logical of people. Maybe he should wait a couple more days, to give Mrs Weasley time to calm down, and maybe to give him time to plan an escape route in case Mrs Weasley was less than welcoming.

"Er, Ginny I'm not sure that your mum would…"

"Harry I swear if you finish that sentence the way I think you're going to, I'm going to petrify you and drag you back right now!"

Harry could not resist smiling, even through his worry at the prospect of encountering Mrs Weasley again. Ginny really was beautiful when she got fired up about something. Were it not for the inherent risks to his health, he might well consider setting her off at least once a day, just to see her looking like this. With some effort, he pulled his mind back to the matter in hand, explaining why seeing Mrs Weasley today would not be a good idea.

"I just meant not today, Gin," Harry said, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, "Why not tell your mum that I'll be around tomorrow for dinner, give her time to get used to the idea of seeing me again?"

"I'll hold you to that, Harry," Ginny said seriously, "and so will everyone else."

"I may need you to," Harry said, only half joking since he still had the strong urge to flee from the vicinity of Mrs Weasley in order to preserve his life and health intact.

"I should get changed again," she stated, rising from her chair, "Could you help me out again?"

"If you want me to," Harry replied, also getting up.

They went upstairs and Harry stood outside the door while Ginny put her dress most of the way back on. Then, when she called him, he went in and helped her to fasten it back up properly. Just before she left, however, he handed her a small square of parchment upon which a single sentence was fairly hastily scribbled.

"Can you give this to Ron and Hermione if you see them?"

Ginny refrained from commenting that she would likely be mobbed as soon as she set foot back in the Burrow, so of course she would see them. Instead she simply nodded and took the parchment. Then she gave him a lingering kiss on the lips and stepped into the waiting fireplace, throwing down the Floo Powder and calling out her destination. Harry watched her vanish from sight with a mixture of longing and happiness. He missed her already, but she was his bridge, his way back to everyone else.

* * *

Ginny stepped into the living room of the Burrow, and was most surprised to find it completely empty, considering that this was the place she had agreed to return to when she had finished talking to Harry. She had expected to find the place full of people, all asking how he was, and why he was holed up in Grimmauld Place. Her confusion, however, was cleared up when she heard the hive of activity that was coming from the kitchen. Everyone must have been sitting down to breakfast by the sound of it. She crossed the room, and was confronted by the sight of the Weasley family plus one sitting down to breakfast, the one being Hermione, who was staying with them while her parents were still in St Mungo's having their memories restored. Ginny just stood in the doorway, smiling slyly and waiting for someone to notice her. It took a few minutes, but eventually Ron looked up, his eyes widening quite comically in Ginny's opinion at the sight of his sister standing in the doorway, looking much the same as she had immediately before departing the previous evening. 

"Ginny!"

Ron's shout cut across the chatter, bringing the room to dead silence, as every head in the room turned towards the doorway and its current occupant. Unable to resist a small tease, Ginny gave a little wave to the assembled crowd.

"Hi everyone," no response, "Well I'm just going to go upstairs and change…"

"Don't even think about it," Hermione warned, "You're going to sit down and tell us how he is, and when he's coming back."

Ginny smirked and handed the brown-haired witch the piece of parchment she had been holding onto.

"He asked me to give that to you and Ron. Why don't you go and ask him yourself?"

Curiously, Hermione turned the parchment over, reading the words inscribed there.

_The current residence of Harry James Potter may be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place._

The implied invitation made Hermione gasp in delight and she passed the scrap of parchment quickly to Ron for him to read. Ron's reaction was much the same.

"Do you think now's too soon?" he asked Hermione.

"I hope not," she replied, looking towards Mrs Weasley seeking permission from her hostess.

"If he's invited you dear, go. Just…just say hello to him for me," no one missed the slight hitch in Mrs Weasley's voice. She had spent much of the past month lamenting the fact that in her grief over one son, she had chased off another, and it would probably continue to haunt her until Harry made his return to the Burrow in person. This did not stop Ron and Hermione, however, from rising and practically sprinting to the fireplace in the living room. Ginny mentally wished them luck as she heard fire flare in the grate signalling their exit. Then she looked around at the remaining faces that were just as inquisitive, and decided that she might as well answer their questions while giving the three friends time to reconnect. If she was lucky she might be able to return to Grimmauld Place for lunch. Taking Hermione's vacant chair, she looked everyone in the eye.

"Harry's doing as well as can be expected…"

* * *

Next Chapter: Harry's reunion with Ron and Hermione.

Pleas review!


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